By a common tacit decision, Madam Pomfrey was not privy to the outcome of their educational trip into the Forbidden Forest. Hermione's injury was treated in the dungeons with the help of an Essence of Dittany. By the end of her detention, the girl felt almost healthy; although, the effect of the Calming Drops had weakened and the fear that she, once again, would be interrogated about the Pensieve, returned. Snape, however, did not ask her about anything. He simply glared at her, from time to time, gloomily and quite strangely, but remained silent. If only she could slip into the Room of Requirement! But the headmaster hadn't dismissed her yet, and Hermione was too afraid to ask if she could leave – what if she made him angry again? He sat at his desk to sort out the Sleepy cones, Hermione opened her Transfiguration homework. Though, she could not really revise it because of her sore head. Suddenly the girl remembered one more thing… It wasn't that important, but she had promised Harry. Most likely the Order won't be able to help her with it better than Snape.
"Excuse me, sir. Are you any good at runes?"
"I'm good at everything, but I won't do your homework for you."
"This isn't homework, sir. I need to find out the meaning of a few runes. It's not from the curriculum. It's just they can be understood in different ways."
"Of course, they can, they are runes. All right, follow me."
Where to?
Snape walked to his office, Hermione hesitantly stopped at the threshold – he had trained her well. However, this time the door wasn't slammed in front of her. Was she allowed to come in? Why suddenly such an honour?
"What type of runes?" the professor ran his fingers over the spines of the dictionaries in his bookcase, waiting for her answer to pick up the right one.
"Scythian, sir."
He smirked and moved away from the bookcase empty-handed.
"Let's see then."
Did he know all the Scythian runes by heart? Incredible…
Hermione was forced to step into the forbidden space of his office, in which nothing had changed much since the day of her first destructive detention, except for the Sorting Hat that now was settled on the top of a bookcase. The same cold twilight, the gurgling of some muck behind the black screen next to his desk, the gloomy-looking books on the shelves – some of them even growled quietly. How could anyone enjoy living in such a place? Hermione liked the primordial headmaster's office much more. When it had been occupied by Dumbledore, everything had shimmered with colourful sunlight reflected from the stained-glass windows. The room had been filled with outlandish magic knick-knacks and a real phoenix had lived there. And Snape's quarters? The only miraculous object that she has ever seen here was the Pensieve, but even it had been stolen. A dull, uncomfortable room with no windows at all. The man absolutely didn't know how to enjoy being a headmaster.
"Here, sir," Hermione handed the professor a piece of paper onto which she had rewritten a few unknown-to-her runes.
She already began regretting that she had asked him to help. Her biggest desire was to get out of this small, musty room as soon as possible.
Snape took the piece of paper torn from her notebook and went to his desk, studying the runes written in Hermione's hand as he walked. He stopped abruptly and turned to her with a changed expression – skin whiter than chalk, eyes full of darkness. Hermione shuddered. What's wrong now? What did he see?
"Have you lost your mind?" the professor uttered quietly. "I will kill you."
Again? Though, this time he did not raise his wand and there was no threat in his voice – he simply stated (with a grain of regret): people are getting killed for such things. For seven pitiful runes?! But Hermione did not dare to clarify and simply backed towards the door. It was clear that Legilimency in the wintery Forest had really been nothing more than a practice. And the wave of Fiendfyre turned backwards by the Horcrux had been nothing more than a spectacular spell… Of course, the girl did not have time to jump out of his office – the door slammed shut. The professor reached Hermione in one swift leap. Legilimency again? With her head still sore, she won't survive it a second time… The look on Snape's face was very similar to the one she had seen in the Pensieve during his conversation with Lucius Malfoy, the end of which she had not heard because of Ron. This was the end. She had got herself into big, big trouble. Why hadn't she just left?
"What are these runes?! Where did you get them from?!" just on the verge of hysteria, even beyond.
Why had he flown into a rage again? Hermione had a hard time thinking after hitting her head. What should she answer? He'd be more suspicious if she remained silent. And if she said they were from a book, he'd ask her which one…
"They are from a letter, sir. Personal. I don't have to answ–"
"Are they?" he took a step back, looking maliciously pleased. "What letter? To whom?"
"To m-me, sir," Hermione whispered desperately.
The professor shrieked. At first inarticulate, then in a human language:
"To you?! You, little…" he did not finish. Took a sharp breath and asked again in a quieter tone: "To you, then?"
"Y-yes…"
What did he see in seven runes pulled out of context?!
"All right…" now Snape spoke very, very quietly, but Hermione could see that he was shaking with anger. "Let's go then."
"W-where to?"
"To the table. It's too dark to read here."
"Sir, perhaps, I'd better be going –"
"Take. A seat. At the table."
Hermione drew up a chair and took a seat, feeling more and more perplexed. Professor Snape's manner of communication had always been peculiar, but never to such an extent… Perhaps, serving Voldemort had affected his nerves? He'd been carrying Calming Drops in his robes pocket after all…The professor sank into the opposite chair and laid the piece of paper with the runes in front of him. His face was bloodless and there was not the slightest glimmer of light in his eyes. His voice was completely calm, and this was the worst.
"I'll try to convey the meaning to you, although this is rather difficult as you don't give me the full text. I suggest this: you follow the letter yourself and correct me in case of an error."
Okay, okay… Just don't yell again. Hermione jerked, dropping her bag, hastily picked it up and took the notebook with her translation out.
"I'm ready, sir. Sorry for taking your t–"
"Stop doing it then. Let's begin," he glanced at the piece of paper in front of him. "'My dear Lily'… Lily is your middle name, I take it?"
"N-no, sir. But sometimes my friends call me that," Hermione responded, mentally cursing everything and everyone. "After one lesson with Madam Sprout."
"Doesn't matter. The main thing is everything is clear to you in this part. Moving on... 'Please, let's talk again. Or send me an answer by strix…' And we can cross out a second unknown-to-you rune," he carefully run his quill through it. "I understand why you had problems with this one, Miss Granger, as it says 'strix' instead of 'owl'. Let's continue: '…if you don't wish to see me.'" Snape closed his eyes for a second, during which Hermione's poor heart made a dizzying somersault.
Then the professor spoke without stopping, gradually crossing out one rune after another and fiercely glaring at Hermione from time to time.
"'I beg you, forgive me and don't turn away from me, don't destroy everything with a single scrape of your quill. It's killing me. I know that you worry about our quarrel too. All right, about me offending you. I'm truly sorry. Forgive me. I promise, I will never say that word again, neither to you nor to anyone else. Please, forgive me. Every man has the right to a second chance, hasn't he?'"
Hermione dropped the notebook onto her lap. Oh, no! Please, no! What have you done, Harry? Or rather, what has she done?!
Hermione did not dare move, let alone look up at the professor. Though, this only made it worse – as he spoke by heart, there was a strong feeling that he was addressing not the long-dead Lily Evans, but her, Hermione. Disaster! The girl could not forgive herself for inventing such a brazen, absurd lie as though the letter had been written to her! But who would have guessed? Tears rolled down her cheeks, but in order to wipe them she had to raise her hands and she couldn't move.
"Professor, stop! Don't do it! Please!" Hermione begged him in an undertone.
Snape looked at her in surprise.
"Why not? We have reached the most interesting part! 'If you forgive me, I swear I will sever all connection with the Dark Lord, no matter what it takes.'" His matte black eyes with no boundaries between pupils and irises bathed Hermione in a wave of Fiendfyre.
'His eyelashes are long, that's where such an effect comes from,' Hermione thought mechanically.
The professor shuddered and, stubbornly, but with visible effort, finished the letter:
"'Because only for you I can do anything, because I cannot live without you, because I love you. I've realised this myself only today.'" He crossed out the seventh rune and explained with mocking meticulousness: "The last symbol denotes a strong affection... 'Love' is not an entirely accurate word – it has quite a lot of designations, but this one is not the most common. I'd say that we are talking about a feeling close to obsession. About almost physiological dependence on another person. Not always pleasant, but difficult to eradicate. It absorbs all other life colours and joys. Creates a feeling of unique happiness, one moment of which is worth everything else. Such a strange kind of love that can feed Fiendfyre and change the shape of a Patronus at the same time. Do you still have questions, Miss Granger?"
What questions could she possibly have? This was the end. In a minute he would remember that the Horcrux had been in the same house with the letter, which meant it had been stolen as well. And then he would understand what had happened an hour ago in the Forbidden Forest. Catastrophe! She had given Harry away, from now on Voldemort would be aware that they were looking for his Horcruxes. For the first time in her life Hermione wished she were dead. How could she let her guard down so badly, what had gotten into her that, after all his abominations, after the recent Legilimency, she had gone to Snape for help?! Great Merlin, but how could such a coincidence have been foreseen?! The cup had been a Hufflepuff! Oh, you idiot – the cup had been a Horcrux! A Half-Blood. A Death Eater. Had studied in the same year as Harry's parents. Harry had mentioned it once…
"But, sir, why didn't you… Why was this letter not sent?" Hermione did not recognise her own voice and could not believe that she had asked him such a question. She knew this was none of her business. However, she would do anything to postpone switching to the topic of the Horcrux.
Professor Snape bared his teeth in the most insidious way.
"What a strange question – I thought this was your letter! As I understand, since you received it, it was passed on to you somehow. Although, I can guess pretty well 'how'…" he said not hiding his anger. "If only you knew how tired I am of this!"
"I'm so sorry, sir… I swear I couldn't've imagined –" Hermione muttered.
"What exactly?!" he rose to his feet so abruptly that the girl shuddered.
"That… That it was you," she forced herself to look up at him.
"The only reasonable explanation, albeit an unlikely one," Snape grimaced. "But as I understand you were aware of all other circumstances? So, what difference does it make whether it was me or someone else? I'd rather it's me. At least I'm used to your company always stealing something from me. It's a Potter trait to rummage through my dirty laundry."
Hermione flushed.
"Sir, Harry did not do that. It was me –"
The professor winced as though hearing a sour note.
"How pathetic this is, Miss Granger! This is, I take it, a fit of unconscious Gryffindor selflessness? Spare me of it, if you please – it hurts my teeth. As well as your endless lies. Have I already invited you into Slytherin? We can ask the Sorting Hat to be sure," he nodded towards the bookcase on top of which the said artefact was ingloriously gathering dust. The air around it was practically sparkling with powerful protective charms, but the Hat looked rather dejected and only snuffled offendedly in response – it was still sulking at the new headmaster for not being invited to the Welcoming Feast.
"It's too late for me to change House, sir," blushing, Hermione said barely audible.
"Then stop prevaricating – it's pointless!" Snape began pacing behind her chair, icy rage oozing from his every word. "You definitely lied that you didn't know where Potter was. You see him, of course, and often enough for him to ask you about such nonsense as runes. Believe it or not, that's why I used them in my letter in the first place – Potter was never good at runes."
What?! To predict that in almost twenty years Harry wouldn't… Ah, he means James Potter, just does not differentiate between them! Hermione's excruciating headache returned from the professor's hissing and the anger that he was pouring on her. What a terrible situation, really. It was even hard to blame the headmaster for his lack of restraint. It all looked rather unpleasant, though she and Harry meant well.
"Of course, Potter stole the letter himself. Didn't he tell you of the spells suspended with blood?" the professor leaned unexpectedly on the back of Hermione's chair, whispering into the very ear of the frozen girl. "Potter would have died on my doorstep if he hadn't been the son of Lily Evans…" Hermione mentally noted that Harry's mother was not tagged with the hated surname. "And now I bitterly regret that I haven't removed that symbolic exception. Only the future that is in store for your friend somewhat reconciles me with that omission…"
The words sounded ominous, and Hermione turned in horror, but the professor had already walked away from her deep into the office and stopped there, leaning against a bookcase.
"One thing that I don't understand is: what did you expect to find in my house?" he asked from the semi-darkness, thoughtfully crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you think a Muggle shack is the right place to keep something of real value? How insufferable you all are! How easily you adopt the laws of wartime and how stupidly you waste your energy on nonsense! I don't believe Professor Dumbledore could have instructed you to do such a foolish thing. I don't understand why... Why did you do that, Miss Granger?" a hint of regret slipped into his tone again. It seemed that he had expected better from her.
Well, we had expected better from you too.
The professor looked at the girl with an expression of disappointment and annoyance.
"And what am I supposed to do with you now?"
Hermione sighed. Well, he had said it himself…
"Sir, please… Let it be 'Avada Kedavra'."
The headmaster was surprised, then furious.
"An excellent request! Ready to die for a scrap of a twenty-year-old letter?"
He approached his student again and looked inquisitively in her eyes. Hermione covered her face with her hands. Occlumency!
"What were you looking for there?" Snape queried quietly. "And why did you decide that I should have it?"
The girl lost it:
"Sir, either kill me or leave me alone! I won't tell you anything, I hate you! You… you betrayed us all, surrendered Hogwarts to You-Know-Who and… and…"
"And killed Professor Dumbledore," Snape prompted gloatingly. "It's nice to be reminded of my brilliant achievements, but I'd rather you told me something new. I think, Miss Granger, you're dying to follow Mr Thomas."
"Is this the third warning?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"The second one, as far as I remember. Give me the original letter and get out of here."
Hermione removed her hands from her face and looked at him in disbelief. Gnawing his lips, the professor sat on the edge of his desk and waited tensely for her to clear out. 'The second one'… The girl frantically began to look for the rune dictionary in her bag, but the damn thing, of course, lay at the bottom. Having waited ten seconds, Snape snatched the bag out of her hands and emptied its contents onto his desk. Considering that she and her friends had broken into both of his offices, his bedroom and even his house, Hermione did not object. The professor silently shook her dictionary, took the piece of paper that fell out of it and immediately incinerated it in mid-air. Without looking around, Hermione swept her belongings back, mentally overjoyed that the conversation about runes took place after the Horcrux had been out of her bag. The professor certainly had had no idea about the Horcruxes, but now he was going to start digging, of course. Dammit!
"I believe this is the time to relieve you of your every-day detention," Snape dotted the i's with his usual clarity. "You've learnt not to blow up the cauldrons and this is the main thing. Professor Carrow, who insisted on the active organisation of your leisure time, is unlikely to object as there is a low probability that we'll ever see him again. Since his responsibilities and duties have been delegated to me, including the control of the Muggle-born, I'll be delighted to finally get rid of you."
Delighted to get rid of her? Bastard! Hermione could not restrain herself – the instinct of self-preservation was never appreciated in Gryffindor:
"Sir, you could have relieved me at any time if I were of no use to you," she said heading for the door.
He flew into a rage again.
"You?! Being of use?!" he repeated in the most derisive tone. "By wasting my time while I was trying to teach you something? Or by spoiling my potions, breaking through my doors and stealing my belongings? Miss Granger, I'm fed up with you and your primitive intrigues. The more freedom you are given, the quicker you forget your place!"
Great, the intimidation has started again. Only she did not care anymore. Absolutely. The professor was no longer allowed into the Order of the Phoenix – a special enchantment had been developed at the headquarters for this case.
"Unfortunately, sir, with you I never manage to forget my place as a Mudblood," she whispered, straightening her grey robes with trembling hands.
Snape flinched as though she had hit him, then barked:
"Be gone, Hermione!" – and the girl was thrown into the laboratory by his magic.
The door slammed shut a second after and Hermione burst into tears.
At first, she cried squatting right next his locked office, then, still sobbing, went to collect the flag and picture off her desk. In fact, he had not said anything remarkable to her – simply had called her by her first name, indicating the lower status that she had voiced herself. Her name had turned into an insult along with the name of her House…Hermione could hardly breathe with resentment bubbling inside her. She should have gone earlier before he had had the chance to sling her out like a mutt. Good thing he really had not killed her because of the runes. She, however, most definitely will kill Harry now! The damn Pensieve – had it not been for the bloody basin as well, perhaps the professor would not have been so furious because of the letter. Hermione pulled herself up abruptly – why did she care? It had already been decided – she was going to leave Hogwarts for good.
Yet, it still hurt. She could not grasp: what was so special in that letter? He had fallen in love with a girl, they had quarrelled… So what? That was a normal thing for teenagers – Ron was squabbling with his girlfriends all the time! As well as Harry with Ginny… Perhaps, it was about the Dark Lord? So, now he saw it acceptable to suck up to that scum, but was ashamed that it had not been his ultimate dream a long time ago? A man of mystery! Be as it may, he had incinerated the letter, so what was the matter?!
Though, Hermione was beginning to realise what it was. Despite Harry's beliefs, Severus Snape had not hated Lily Evans, most definitely had not wished her dead and had not liked to be reminded of that time. Especially by the boy he hated and who, as it had turned out, had rummaged through his house. How could she not have seen it before – everything has become so clear now! It all came together – Harry's story, what they had seen in the Pensieve earlier on, the letter…But that was none of her business. Damn him with all his letters, his Lily, his quirks and whims… He had made Harry an orphan. Scoundrel! Had got mixed up with Voldemort. Bastard! However, none of the above gave her the right to slip him his own love letter while lying shamelessly that it had been written to her. Hermione was disgusted with herself. But she had apologised! What else had he expected from her? It was time to go to the Room of Requirement, but the girl simply stood in the middle of the laboratory, swearing hard at herself.
Only such a fool as she could be upset over offending Snape! She had managed to shock even a Death Eater with her lack of principles – well done! Carry on and off into Slytherin indeed!
With her bag over her shoulder, she returned to the locked office door and knocked.
"Professor Snape? Please, open the door… This is Granger… again. Professor, I just need to tell you…"
What exactly? Hadn't she said enough? Hermione sobbed. She just wanted to help Harry and Harry just feels lonely. That's why he breaks into other people's houses and steals their letters… All men are giant babies!
"Professor! I beg you, open the door!"
He certainly was inside, why was he ignoring her? Dreadful man! Hermione took a deep breath – she had to talk to him. She pressed her ear against the door – it was deadly quiet in his office. Had he disapparated? Where to? Filled with a sense of foreboding, Hermione drew out her wand. He had figured it out anyway. He had been right – she had most definitely lost her mind! Amazed at her own imprudence, Hermione raised her wand and began to remove the protective charms from his door. Fortunately, he had not had time to change anything. Last time it had taken her half a minute… Having finished, Hermione knocked again gently, then pushed the door wide open. The office was empty. The candles flickered slightly in the draft, which always penetrated the dungeons out of nowhere. Just in case, the girl approached his bedroom – thank Merlin, he was there! She could hear him talking behind the enchanted door.
"…unbearable. They'll be the death of me, your Gryffindorians! You and I will soon hang on the wall next to each other, though I doubt they'll allow this. I'll be lucky if they bury me in the Forbidden Forest, dancing, along with Potter, on my grave."
His hysteria continued. Why 'your Gryffindorians'? Who was he talking to? Professor McGonagall? In his bedroom?! Another voice, also very familiar, but most definitely not belonging to the Head of Gryffindor, replied sadly:
"You have only yourself to blame, Severus."
Hermione froze. She would have recognised this voice from a thousand, even if she had not heard it only today in the Pensieve.
"Why of course!" Snape bristled up readily. "Rejoice – you have been avenged!"
"No need to exaggerate. You measure others by your own yardstick. I don't think that someone intentionally wished you harm," Professor Dumbledore uttered soothingly.
"'Someone'? You know as well as I do who's responsible for that! Potter…"
"I've already told you, Severus, I was absent from my portrait at that time."
Hermione pressed her buzzing head against the cool surface of the door. Great Merlin! When she and the boys had been stealing the Pensieve, they had noticed an unoccupied portrait hanging above it, but there had been no time to think. Though, of course, they would never have believed that Snape could have a picture of Dumbledore in his quarters – any visual representation of the former headmaster was now strictly forbidden. The current headmaster was madder than she thought – he had killed a man and was sleeping under his portrait! Hermione winced.
"Admit it, you were never liked much, even before," Dumbledore carried on. "If only you could –"
"I don't care about their attitude! I need a Pensieve," Snape interrupted him gruffly. "I can hardly take the Ministry of Magic by assault for their one!"
"Perhaps, you'd better not disapparate to Voldemort tonight if you are so afraid. You were there yesterday. And every other day this week. Just stay at Hogwarts and get some rest."
"I'm not afraid!" Snape snapped. "I simply presume my life still has some importance. Besides, it's not like I can pretend to be unwell when he calls me."
"But you can displease Tom all the same even if you answer his call," Dumbledore retorted softly. Under the influence of his smooth voice, his interlocutor also calmed down a little.
"Then he'll simply kill me," this was said without irony or drama. Killing people was quite common for the Dark Lord, even if they were his own servants.
"Not necessarily. Frankly, I don't understand what worries you so much," Dumbledore uttered calmly. "As far as I know, you haven't done anything unusual lately…"
Having heard that, Hermione started banging on the door, but almost instantly realised that she was beyond the boundaries of the Silencing Charm. Her previous attempts to draw the attention of Professor Snape had obviously been interfering with the headmasters' conversation. Hermione hurriedly waved her wand, but she still needed half a minute to remove the protective spells from the door.
"One can but hope," Professor Snape finally recovered his temper. Putting aside the savage rage, he returned to his usual keen sarcasm. "You always know how to cheer one up, Headmaster. Don't wait up."
A crack of disapparition. Hermione pushed the door open and froze in disbelief. The room was empty. As well as the portrait. As though she had imagined it all. What exactly had she been planning to do anyway? To stop the headmaster going to the Dark Lord? To return the Pensieve to him?
Her legs turned to jelly, and the girl sank into an armchair next to the professor's bed. So, if Voldemort killed Severus Snape tonight, she would be the one to blame. How had it happened that the responsibility for the life of a virtual stranger had fallen upon her?
Hermione became so scared that even the destruction of the Horcrux did not make her happy anymore. Not only had she touched the headmaster to the quick (something that others had not managed to do by writing offensive inscriptions, stealing his wand and attacking him directly), but she had also helped to steal the Pensieve. She had had a reason, of course – to find a Horcrux with its help and to transfer a powerful magical artefact from the hands of the Death Eaters to the Order of the Phoenix. How could she have known that that was a matter of life and death?! The professor had not given her an explanation – she wasn't a Dumbledore after all! Perhaps, he had not needed the Pensieve that much? Surely, Severus Snape would have found a way to get the truth out of her in a truly desperate situation?
But if the Dark Lord killed him tonight…
In a stupor, the girl looked at the empty canvas hanging above the place where the Pensive had stood in the morning. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore would return to his portrait and explain something to her? The former headmaster, however, seemed to appear at the school as seldom as possible. It was weird that, having fallen from the highest tower of Hogwarts, he continued interacting with Snape all the same. Yet, the strangest thing was that Hermione was not happy with the opportunity of taking revenge.
If the current headmaster died tonight…
Though, why had she decided that he would die? Surely the two-faced Slytherin had prevaricated plenty of times before. With the spoiled potion, for example. However, remembering Snape's indifferent prediction, Hermione felt a chill. The professor had threatened to kill her twice today, but there was no such confidence in his voice… The girl caught herself gnawing her wand out of despair. She left it in peace and began gnawing her nails instead – at least they were replaceable.
Where had Voldemort called him to? That she would never guess – everyone knew that the Dark Lord chose places for the meetings himself and called his Death Eaters at the last moment; the paths of their apparitions were untraceable. However, even if she knew 'where', what use would it be to her? The Lord could not be killed – he still had a few Horcruxes left. Hermione was astonished with herself – was she seriously wondering how she could snatch the headmaster out of Voldemort's clutches? She doubted that anyone else would want this. Dumbledore was right – everyone hated Snape. One would not risk their life for him, would not even lift a finger. And, of course, Snape had only himself to blame. Despite any reasonable argument in his favour, everyone would only be glad if he vanished as suddenly as Carrow. Actually, Hermione was happy about Carrow's disappearance herself, but Snape was a completely different case.
Still crying, Hermione looked around the empty room – it was messy. An unmade bed, cobwebs in the corners… And he called himself a wizard! Though, no one had asked her to sit here. On the contrary, if the professor returned, he would most definitely find it no trouble to repeat his speech of the brazen Gryffindorians who forget their place. However, it would not matter what he said to her if he returned.
Please, return.
Wiping her eyes as she walked, Hermione staggered into his office. She had broken through his doors yet again, had invaded his personal space yet again… How could he put up with her? With an agonizingly heavy foreboding, she looked around the windowless room. Candles, bookcases full of darkness… and, of course, the black screen…
She had burnt his hands on the first day of her detention, had made mayhem out of his office! Today, he had said something about her spoiling his potions… Had he figured that out as well then? And those bloody runes, Salazar damn them! Hermione stood in front of his empty desk all alone, still mulling over the conversation that had ended half an hour ago. She could not understand: why had he decided to retell her the letter and then had explained the meaning of the last rune? All of this was driving her crazy.
"Are you going to try me on or what?" The Sorting Hat grumbled, bored on top of a bookcase. "It's too late to change House in the last year, of course, but at least you will know. I'm interested myself, to be honest."
"No, thank you very much…" without stopping, Hermione went to the laboratory.
"Would you look at that – none of them are interested anymore! What is the world coming to?" the Hat grunted. "Gryffindor, Slytherin… prowling around, who would understand them…" and added vindictively: "I will send everyone to Hufflepuff from now on – there is a shortage."
The mention of Hufflepuff momentarily brought Hermione back to the destroyed Horcrux, but as if it had happened a hundred years ago. One Horcrux more, one Horcrux less… Who the hell cared?
What if Voldemort killed him tonight?
Hermione wearily sat at her desk and laid her head on her hands, gliding her unseeing eyes along the racks of shelves filled with neatly wiped, numbered and inscribed phials, vials and bottles containing all sorts of nastiness. She had been of no use to him – as if! Ungrateful! He had said it out of vengeance. Taking revenge on a schoolgirl – wasn't he ashamed? And he called himself a headmaster!
Thoughts were staggering reluctantly through her sore head; she had to go to the Room of Requirement, but she had no strength. Her friends were right – she must have had inhaled something poisonous in the dungeons. She should be happy! The Horcrux was destroyed, she was safe and sound. And free to go either to the Order of the Phoenix or even to her parents in Australia.
He had slung her out.
Why was it so painful to be thrown out of his door? After all, it no longer meant or changed anything… Still, she felt sorry for something that had existed invisibly all these months. For something, albeit strange, but human in the absurd world of the terribly mutated Hogwarts. If only the professor was just a little closer to a normal person! Well, then he would not be Severus Snape anymore, would not be the Horror of the Dungeons.
She was not fond of him. And who would believe otherwise? He himself most certainly wouldn't. Legilimency, the dark potion that made spikes grow out of people's hands – all of it repulsed Hermione in the most acute way. And if she got the crazy idea of writing down all of his quips, she would need a notebook thicker than a dictionary of Scythian runes. Another strange thing – why had he persistently forced her to come, brew potions, learn spells… The Fiendfyre was an obvious epic fail – the first 'T' after the solid 'O's' in all the years of Miss Granger's magic education. But he had continued to drill her pedantically with the damn fire. Every day, at eight o'clock sharp, dead or alive. If he simply wanted to keep Potter's friend in front of his eyes, why was he surprised at her behaviour? Did she say they had a truce? Never! Yet, she shouldn't have called herself a 'Mudblood' in front of him – that was true: he had never mentioned her origins, in fact, quite pointedly had not mentioned them. And that's with all of his natural lack of tact. He still had mocked her, of course, but never for her 'lower' status. Had bathed her in his sarcasm, yet had sat her at a front desk and had called her exclusively 'Miss Granger'.
Hadn't taken her wand but had taken Professor Dumbledore's. Had cured her of his own poison. Had saved her life twice and had promised to kill her as many times. Had given her Legilimency sessions and had constantly attacked her with 'Crucio' and other spells, forcing her to block them with her shield charm. Against a plus, there had always been a minus – a strict balance. However, if to take into account purely the positive moments, if to imagine that this was not Snape, but Dumbledore with his pacifying manner, with handfuls of sweets and a phoenix in his office, one could say that the professor had coddled her. To be honest, even Dumbledore had not worked so hard with Harry, to whom he had always paid special attention, as Snape had done with her over the past few months. Every day, despite his constant bad mood and preoccupation with his various commitments. And that was the most incomprehensible of all – more than the potion bursting into flames, more than the unfulfilled capture of Potter presumably spotted on the Marauder's Map, more than the portrait of the former headmaster hanging in his bedroom. Unsolvable…
The girl rubbed her puffy eyes. How could she find out when the headmaster returned? If he returned… She wanted to talk to him again. To apologise. Again. To decide whether or not to return the Pensieve. To make sure that he was okay and to ask… She could not formulate the question, but something tormented her, a kind of aching duality.
A half-blood. Always in between – who could understand him? Too bad to be good, and not bad enough for one not to look for good in him. His own very narrow, very specific world with incomprehensible standards. Hermione sighed. She did not understand at all, for example, what he had meant by 'growing trust', but, apparently, he himself had marked some milestone. To allow her to enter his office or not, to fulfil her request or not… Besides, he did not hate her and that, on the scale of Professor Snape, was almost the height of liking. It was unknown if he had allowed anyone closer. She personally did not know any such examples. At least, during their acquaintance. Considering his attitude towards, let's say, Harry…or Harry's father… or friends of Harry's father, Hermione was a happy exception. Despite the fact, that she has always been friends with that very same Harry. Though, perhaps that was 'due to the fact', considering the story with Lily Evans: Lily had gone to Potter, but one could play the same game ad infinitum.
A crazy, eternal child! Yet, oddly enough, having put all the parts of the story together, Hermione began to have more sympathy for Snape. If he really loved Lily, it must have been quite hard for him. Not that that excused his behaviour but seeing a shade of humanity in him was unexpectedly pleasing. At the same time, some of the oddities were explained. If the house that Harry had visited really was such the measly hole that he had described, one should take one's hat off to the professor. Everything that he had achieved had taken a lot of sweat and toil. From zero, zilch, nada. From terrible poverty and a dysfunctional family… To some extent, Hermione could understand what he had gone through. Although she had normal parents – average Muggles. And a normal house without boarded rooms or an occupied cupboard under the stairs. Yet, like him, she did not have such a jump start as, for example, the Malfoys had – when a lot was given and acquired simply by birthright. Being a half-blood without a fortune or pedigree, it must have been so much harder to claw one's way into the forefront from Slytherin than from any other House. To achieve the state of affairs that she had perceived during Dumbledore's headmastership, with him taking the impossible for granted: "Severus, can you do…" – "Yes, Albus"; "Severus, can you bring…" – "One moment." Dark magic, white magic – all the same… That did not excuse him either, but it most definitely inspired respect.
Hermione forced herself to get up and leave the laboratory – her friends had probably started looking for her by now! No, the lab would be the first place they would check. Most likely, they were still busy transferring the Pensieve. Should she return it or not? And what would the boys say… The girl still hadn't decided whether to tell Harry the latest news or not – he could hardly be pleased with coming across the Half-Blood Prince all over again. Though, Harry was not going to stop searching, therefore it would be better if he found it out from her, rather than waited for Lily's friend on the porch of his house and discovered Professor Snape. If such a meeting ever occurred, only one could survive. And that would not be the Boy-Who-Lived.
It was after lights out and the Dementors filled the dark corridors, hunting for discipline breakers. Hermione, who had already grown accustomed to this, waved her wand, casting her Patronus. The girl's silvery otter glided lightly in front of her, illuminating her path and scattering the dark creatures away. A great example, by the way: the professor had never trained her to cast a Patronus, although it was advanced and useful magic. But that was the thing about Snape – the closer to dark magic, the better, and there was nothing dark about Patronuses. Hermione hesitantly looked back – should she return and wait for him? No, the boys would be worried. She had to see them, to make sure that everything was all right, to tell them about the Horcrux – this was important. Then she could decide whether or not to go back to the dungeons. Besides, the headmaster could have returned by then. Usually, Voldemort dismissed him before two a.m. – he had other things to do.
Hermione made it to the second floor without any extra adventure, only noting that it was extremely dark outside – even the glimmer of the Dark Mark was not visible. A piercing black snowstorm that had replaced the equally black rain began again. The icy snowflakes circled and circled around the castle without reaching its grounds. Sometimes (like tonight) the black snow, pouring from the Mark, mixed up with the normal one, turning the blizzard black and white. A horrific sight!
On the third floor Hermione had to make a detour. As many as three Dementors had blocked the girl's way, eagerly reaching out to her. Her Patronus hardly scared them. The confused otter did not abandon its mistress but huddled helplessly at her feet. Having scolded the insolent beasts no worse than Peeves, Hermione went to another staircase. There she was met by just one Dementor, who recoiled from her Patronus, albeit reluctantly. What was wrong with them today? What if a first year met them? She'd have to tell the headmaster… Somehow it seemed that the obnoxious Snape would certainly do something about it. Perhaps, during her detentions, she had developed a sixth sense for the professor – as a way of survival.
Hermione's thoughts returned to Snape – clearly that was the influence of the Dementors, who made everyone feel scared and sad… Just like the Horror of the Dungeons. However, Hermione suddenly realised that next to Professor Snape she had been frightened only of him and him alone: not of Carrow, not even of the Dark Lord. It seemed that despite mocking her himself, the headmaster would not allow anyone to…
Hermione sank onto the dark step of the marble staircase; her Patronus looked at her in surprise and slid from the upper landing back to its mistress.
"I'm an idiot," Hermione told the silvery otter, who nuzzled her hands – Hermione's Patronus was quite intelligent and sympathetic. "He's been protecting me."
A very atypical formulation if to remember who it applied to, but his protection had been atypical as well! Yet, it was the most accurate word. The key for understanding the vile Severus Snape had been found. Taking into account his yells earlier on about Hermione doing more harm than good. Taking into account that her endless detentions had begun after the episode with spikes growing out of her hands. Taking into account his dispute over her with Amicus Carrow in front of the ministerial inspection. 'Under my personal responsibility'…Oh, how angry he had been with her for that trick with Slytherin's locket! Yet, he had still insisted that she would serve her detentions with him rather than with Carrow. She's an idiot!
Why of course – if it's about Snape, there must be an insidious subtext! One that had never showed up. Carrow had disappeared from the school and so had the need for her detentions – Professor Snape had simply let her go. And that was all. He had not used her, whereas she had used him. Hermione blushed and started getting weepy again. The current headmaster was undoubtedly a dark wizard, who for some unknown reason had been taking care of her. Had pitied her, perhaps? Another unsuitable word. A Death Eater feeling sorry for a Mudblood? Hermione's previous experience suggested that pity was out of character for Professor Snape. Though, she was not a naïve first year to see no difference between his attitude to incomplete homework and to torture with a dark potion! She's such an idiot!
Her detentions had been just a cover. He had simply been teaching her protective spells in order to give her a chance to survive; had been hiding her from Amicus and Alecto, who, of course, had not dared to interfere. Yet, Hermione was not going to express her gratitude to the professor. Let the Dark Lord thank him! Whatever reasons the headmaster had been guided by, and whatever fate had threatened Hermione without his protection, she had never been able to breathe freely for at least three hours every damn day during these past months! Always on the alert, always with Occlumency. Even during the most peaceful moments when they had simply been brewing a potion or practicing another spell. Or when she had been waiting for him with cocoa. Besides, Hermione considered herself not the worst of enemies – in her opinion it was enough to lock the headmaster up in Azkaban rather than to kill him in the most painful way. Not a big difference, of course, but still...
It was difficult to say how much the professor had loathed yet another commitment, but surely it could not have been otherwise? Most likely he had noticed her distaste of him, but he was hated by everyone and he was always indifferent to it. He had said so himself today. Moreover, why would the headmaster pay attention to whether his student understood his actions or not, whether she approved of them or not? Correct – he had not cared about any of that. Her verbal attacks and local sabotages had not changed a thing. In the worst case, he had uttered two or three sentences full of sarcasm and contempt, ending them with the usual 'tomorrow at eight'. Until today… She's such an idiot.
"I'm such an idiot," Hermione repeated out loud, addressing the Patronus curled at her feet.
Because today it had suddenly become clear that he was not indifferent. The observant professor had noticed everything and had lost his temper due to the fact that, by being tactless and lying, she had taken advantage of the tiny privilege he had given her.
The girl shuddered, remembering the black eyes of the Death Eater, the dark wizard, the Legilimens firmly fixed on her. It had been quite a strange feeling – he had retold the letter like a learned-by-heart incantation, and it seemed that he himself had not really understood what he was saying and to whom. She had knocked him out of his rut, had unhinged and overwhelmed him. And then he had gone to the Lord in such a disturbed state…
No, she had probably imagined it all. Professor Snape was not easily bewildered. Flying into a rage was a common thing for him. Still, she thoroughly regretted that she had offended him. She had not meant to. Nevertheless, why hadn't he immediately thrown her out? Surely, if Harry brought the letter himself, even in the most peaceful times, the conversation would be much, much shorter. But more spectacular… Even after spending many hours alone with the professor, Hermione was at a loss. Why had he kept her in his office for twenty minutes? Had he known the reason himself? Runes, Lily, impudent Harry rummaging through others' houses – this, of course, was bad, but…
If the professor wanted to find out where and how she had been seeing Potter, why hadn't he used Legilimency again? She would certainly have failed Occlumency the second time! Instead, he had simply mentioned Harry during their conversation. Could one believe that?! Knowing that the Dark Lord was scouring through the kingdom for Harry Potter, his Right Hand had discovered that Hermione continued seeing the boy and… Had done nothing! Except for stating his usual: 'Potter is hopeless, just like his father was.'
Stealing the letter had been a wicked deed, but not much of a surprise to the professor. (Well, of course – she and her friends had been robbing him for ages.) What had sincerely perplexed him the most was: what could they possibly have been looking for in his house?
He had not asked her about the Horcrux.
Had become angry with her requesting 'Avada Kedavra'.
While she had been yelling to his face about betrayal and murder, he had only hissed back at her. But then had thrown her out of his office for calling herself a Mudblood. What had they actually been talking about? By the looks of it, not about the same thing.
What she had perceived as an interrogation apparently had not been one. And, oddly enough, it had not even been a tribute to Lily Evans-Potter. In fact, besides the letter, he had mentioned Lily only once, while talking about the spells cast onto his house. Hermione had already realised that Lily was a taboo subject. A non-healing wound. An eternal reproach. Yet, an old one – the headmaster could get angry, but he would never want to talk to anyone about it. To her tactless question about the unsent letter he had calmly answered with an absolute shield – there had been no need to snap back or share memories.
Right, because it was not him who was crazy, it was her being a complete idiot.
Because tonight it had not been about Lily. It had been about Hermione. He had been addressing her and her alone. And he had reacted so sharply because it was Hermione who had come to him with the notorious letter. He had offered her his hand and immediately pulled it back. The girl became scared.
If only she had been a little less worried about the Horcrux, while being alone with the Death Eater! Her head had been so preoccupied with the damn thing that she had hardly listened to him. Only now she recalled and grasped it all: his intonation, a sharp pause at the end, his confused, not-at-all-happy look. A second had passed, then another… 'Do you still have questions, Miss Granger?' She had asked him the wrong ones…
Crap! Hermione felt really terrible. Much, much worse than before. She pressed her feverishly hot forehead against the marble railing. The Dementors gathered around her, but kept their distance, avoiding her Patronus. She did not care about them. She did not care about anything. The stairs under her kept moving like a pendulum (left, right, left, right), adjoining one or the other wing of the castle, but the girl forgot where she was going.
Perhaps, she had simply imagined it? After all, even in the wizarding world the impossible still existed. Yet, with the same sixth sense, which she had lacked in Divination classes but had developed during her detentions, Hermione already felt – all of it was real. The blood rushed to her cheeks. In that case, that had been the most abnormal declaration of… Well, of course! What else had she, a brainless schoolgirl, expected from him? Had she really expected anything at all?
Hermione's hands began to shake as it suddenly dawned on her: she pulled the notebook with a copy of the letter out of her bag, reread it under the pale glow of her Patronus and groaned. She was right – it was not there. His last words about the moment of realisation. If she had followed the text instead of crying and wishing for 'Avada Kedavra', she would have noticed it back then. Where had he got it from? And why, for Merlin's sake, had he added it? Had he made a mistake? Why, of course – the poor professor had been continually making them: the number of ghoul eyes, the location of Potter on the Marauder's Map, the runes from his own letter that he knew by heart… How could Voldemort, who did not forgive a single mistake, put up with him as his Right Hand? Nevertheless, if it was not for Harry with the letter, things might have never gone so far… Yet, the professor had let her into his office before she had shown him the runes…
Great Merlin! He really was fond of her, really cared about her and regretted that she could not be allowed a step closer… Who would have thought? Most definitely not her! Because it was impossible to find a common language with him…Especially while thinking about the Pensieve – may the damn basin rot in hell! But when had he… Oh, yes! 'I've realised this myself only today' … and had decided to confess there and then? Or was it because she had thrown him off balance? She's such an idiot… How could she still be considered the smartest girl in Hogwarts after that? She had not reacted to his confession at all! Why had he not killed her, really? Well, it was quite obvious 'why'…
And before that, in the Forbidden Forest… It seemed that he had genuinely been frightened that she had been hit by the fire… Despite the Legilimency session and his outright rudeness. She had tried not to look at him back then. She generally tried to look at him as little as possible – that became one's habit, if one spent hours next to an enemy skilled in the art of 'mind-reading'. But now she recalled, how abruptly he had lowered his wand, how abruptly his spell had backed away. When her head had been threatening to split in two, it had been difficult to concentrate on the little things, but, as an attentive student, she had remembered the expression of impotent annoyance on the headmaster's face and his blistering tirade about her amateur mental defence. Yet, he had been angry with himself rather than with her; because he could have got the required answer but had chosen not to do so. Although, if a person did not want to kill or hurt you, this did not mean that you were precious to them… But the main thing was that he did not want to kill her! The second most powerful dark wizard in the kingdom did not wish her harm! This thought was… comforting. And it gave Hermione time to figure out more subtle feelings.
So, if she had imagined it all then… it did not change much. She still had to make sure that he returned from the Dark Lord and was safe and sound… to apologise for the letter again and then go to the Order of the Phoenix as soon as possible. Searching for humanity in Professor Snape was not going to end well. At this rate, she'd have night tears and daylight somnambulism in no time and that would result in another fatal mistake – like earlier, with the runes. Besides, there was always the possibility that Voldemort could enlighten Snape about the Horcruxes tonight. Perhaps it was too risky to return to the dungeons after all? She had managed to leave them alive once. Why tempt fate? But he did not want to harm or kill her…
She had to make her mind up before his return. To decide, at least, in which direction to run.
Great Merlin! What a mess! Hermione mussed up her hair. Perhaps it really was purely her imagination? Or the result of the recent Legilimency magnified by landing on a spruce with the back of her head? All right, let's go over it again: Professor Snape had…let her go. To all four corners of the earth. He had relieved her of her detentions and was hardly going to take his words back. Did he get frightened? Hopefully, not. Offended, then? Hermione's heart skipped a beat.
If Voldemort's Right Hand had really been tired of loneliness and hatred and, by some paradoxical accident, had settled his affections upon a Mudblood, that was very, very serious. It seemed unlikely that Severus Snape would lie and try to lure her onto his side. Actually, he had never tried to do so – on the contrary, he had carefully guarded his second laboratory behind the black screen, had carefully weeded out dark magic for their practice. 'Moritas more' – no, 'Sectumsempra' – all the more. All forbidden books had been locked in his office. What had he wanted then? It looked like nothing in particular… All his words seemed to have had a double meaning. Always in between. Always on the verge. Unlike Hermione who, at the moment, was thrown from one side to the other: was he in love with her or not?
She would never dare ask him that directly. Perhaps, before the runes, there was a hope of getting a hint, but now it was gone for sure. He would never confess, even if it were true and he had really grown fond of her, had begun distinguishing her from the walls. At least a little…
The burden of incomprehensible responsibility weighed heavily on Hermione's shoulders, and she became angry with herself again. Why did she care about that evil scoundrel? Why was she obliged to understand him? Well, let's say she didn't! Yet, the girl felt that it no longer mattered whether she understood him or not. Wasn't it her who hadn't wanted to part with his dungeons? Not her who, whilst crying her heart out, had banged on his door begging him to let her in? He hadn't done so… She had begged him for a second chance, and he had not given it to her. A proud bastard! Had chosen to go and die instead. Had gone to his Master…Well, take your damn Pensieve back, just leave her alone! But, of course, he was not going to do that – he had emotionally hog-tied her and had rejoiced. No, the latter was unlikely… because he had absolutely no idea about her feelings. Occlumency. Not a word without looking back – Hermione had learned it well. That and not to trust a single word of his. Gryffindor – Slytherin. That stupid Hat! It was not at all about inclinations or personalities – they were simply drawn to one another and that was all.
What had she done to deserve this? There were a lot of normal people around who met, kissed, bragged to their friends and lived quite happily… but for Hermione it turned out the other way around. He was strange, difficult, cruel, utterly exhausted and utterly joyless. Damned and broken – it was scary to touch him because of all these fractures. Everything she had ever said to him was off the mark. What was she going to do with him? All that remained was to sit and cry on the cold staircase, surrounded by Dementors, who continued to sneak up, slowly reducing the circle. Bastard! Had disapparated! How could she go to the Order now?!
Hermione buried her face in her knees and burst into tears even more desperately – the decision had been made and she became frightened. The worst thing was to think that he would never return. Yet, it was scary to go and see him in the dungeons. To ask the question… and what next? She had no idea. Most likely, nothing. He certainly did not seek to return to the Order of the Phoenix. Besides, the others would never accept him. Hermione, of course, was not going to take a step towards the Death Eaters. She wondered what Snape himself thought? He was smart. And brave. And reliable – if only she could simply cuddle up to him and close her eyes.
He had fallen in love with her for some reason… Crazy man!
Wiping her cheeks, Hermione smiled and the Dementors backed away a little in disappointment. The girl would not be able to explain why she suddenly placed her confidence in someone to whom no one trusted. Sixth sense. The common wave that had appeared between them during the past four months. She did not care about Legilimency. Or about his round-the-clock sarcasm. About his offishness, gloominess, slovenliness and his tender pride. To be honest, even about his Dark Mark. The latter was the hardest part, but Hermione was imperceptibly left with no choice. It was a little comforting that he turned out to be the best of the worst. Besides, she knew that he was able to make an effort – to endure the insufferable know-it-all Granger for three hours in a row. Given a couple of hours longer to think, she could find other positive traits in Professor Snape. Though, no one appointed her as a benchmark for him. Or as an absolution. He most certainly, more than once, would rue the day he had fallen for her. If, of course, he would ever open his enchanted door to her!
Hermione raised her head and looked dubiously at her Patronus laying silently a step below.
"No, I won't tell even you."
To fall in love. With Snape. Unbelievable. Everyone at Hogwarts and beyond would shudder. It had taken a week for the whole school to come to their senses after she had kissed him in the Great Hall. Remembering Malfoy's trick with Imperio, Hermione ran a finger over her tear-swollen lips. Poor Hogwarts! The new headmaster turned out to be even more cuckoo than the previous one. If only he would return. He had to! He had called her Hermione. She needed to ask him: 'why'.
Thoughtfully resting her cheek on her fist, the girl looked through the window above the stairs: the black and white blizzard was still raging outside. Slowly getting used to the word and barely moving her lips, Hermione mouthed: 'Severus'. The Dementors drifted away into the darkness in frustration, and her Patronus began glowing with a new light coming from within.